lirik lagu tim the tool man – sweet t
[verse]
i spilled the dirty on my clothes, i had to throw ’em in the hamper
wait around the corner for my opp, i’m a camper
tim the toolman, how i told her i’m the hammer
i be strapped with the poker like a f*cking kool*aid jammer
how the f*ck are you the plug when you really slapping bammer?
i’m tryna live a life of glamour off of syntax and grammar
my fiend got caught with grams and went straight to the slammer
how the f*ck are you [?] b*tches with some stutters and stammers?
if i’m talking to a ho, i probably stuffed her with cancer
give her my phonе number but don’t answer
two weeks later i’ll takе her to the crib and pants her
forty*five in the clip, i put a hole inside a [?]
my b*tch stay with the pole but she ain’t never been no dancer
i got off on city man, i told the clerk my name was “tanner”
elevator to the top, you bums be climbing up the ladder
if a ham runs up, you’ll hear a boom and a splatter
back in eighth grade i was blowing down the shadder
i seen $kid in the kitchen whipping up the batter
my stuffer got a pink pills pushing on her bladder
don’t call me “white boy”, that’s a disaster
you’ll be whiter than me when i link you up with casper
he put some money on my head, now i’m flattered
i went to rhs but all my friends went to asher
i got stuffers and shooters from the dot to brighton
big chopper with the dot, that sh*t’ll take down a bison
my plug just got more birds than mike tyson
and this b*tch sucked me up so good, i call her “dyson”
i’ll make a b*tch do what i say so call me “simon”
’bout to bust down the glock with some vvs diamonds
whole squad blowing flower, this sh*t ain’t dandelion
got red tip in the clip, it look like conan o’brien
.223 ruger, 9mm luger
baldheads in the mag’, them hoes look like lex luthor
this b*tch’ll wake the whole block up like a rooster
he said he’s ’bout it, ’bout it, too bad he’s a booster
i could roll a ‘wood up better than a cuban
and my tree be hitting different, i’m sir isaac newton
you don’t touch bread, you’re allergic to gluten
i got a big busty k that dutch got from putin
i stay laughing when i stretch the work like taffy
and my plug got the dog, the fiends call him “daddy lassie”
i got a pole in the trunk, it’ll make a opp duck like daffy
got a cup full of drank, feeling like the great gatsby
i’ll have my fiend firebomb your crib for some addys
.556 in the clip will flip a whip like a krabby patty
every time i call a ho up we do the nasty*nasty
i heard you hit the room and you turned chatty cathy
you can’t even be like me ’cause i was born raw
you came out the womb meant to be a f*cking cornball
the only time i pull up to the court is to ball
i’m holding up two cans like a f*cking sports bra
yeah, b*tch, call me “toucan sam”
i’m pulling up with big drums like the blue man band
f*ck andrew jackson, i need them blue man bands
yeah, b*tch, i need them blue man bands
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